Supercuts
by magicalyoyo
Summary: Haircuts had been a simple procedure thus far in Keith's life: every few months, the school nurse or one of the home's sisters would leap out from behind a door, shove him into a chair, and pull a pair of scissors from thin air. He would then be released several minutes later, dazed and shorn, to go about the rest of his day. His input was not required. College AU, Keith/Shiro.


Haircuts had been a simple procedure thus far in Keith's life: every few months, the school nurse or one of the home's sisters would leap out from behind a door, shove him into a chair, and pull a pair of scissors from thin air. He would then be released several minutes later, dazed and shorn, to go about the rest of his day. His input was not required.

The university faculty and staff, however, did not take an interest in Keith's personal grooming as long as he was clean and not actually naked, and so he was generally left to his own devices.

His hair grew, as is the habit of hair, and Keith ignored it. Sure, he glanced in the mirror a couple of times and thought about hacking it off, but in the end, it was easier to tie it back and leave it be. After all, it would only need to be cut again anyway.

And then, it happened. In this case, _'it'_ was an organic chemistry lab, two freshmen, a Bunsen burner, and a lot of screaming. In the end, the only casualties were approximately forty-two percent of Keith's hair and all of his dignity.

Keith barely glanced at the store as he stalked in, only bothering to note the blue and white logo plastered across the front window.

 _Supercuts._

It would do.

He stepped through the door and nodded to a woman behind the half-desk half-counter hybrid, trying not to sneeze as the wash of chemical-laden air tickled his nose. Then his eyes found one of the employees and stopped. Keith was sure everyone in the room could hear the screech of his visual brakes being slammed on.

His first thought was _oh, he's that grad student._ Apparently, not even the golden child of the university could make it without a part-time job.

His second thought was _he doesn't look like his photo –_ or rather, his photos, which had been plastered across every promotional poster and recruitment pamphlet, carefully lit, angled, and polished to obscure the scar across the man's nose and the brace covering his right wrist. A wash of anger accompanied the realization, because the touched-up images were no better than the adults who dragged a comb through Keith's hair while telling him to _stand up straight and smile_ before he was paraded around in front of the next pair of foster parents.

Keith's third thought, before his conscious mind ground to a halt, called it a day, and closed the shutters, was _he's beautiful._

The man waved him over to an empty chair. His nametag read _Shiro._

Shiro smiled. "What can I do for you today?"

"A haircut," Keith stuttered, and Shiro nodded as if someone might walk into a hair salon and ask for a pepperoni pizza instead. "There was… fire."

"Of course," said Shiro sympathetically, brushing his own white forelock away from his eyes. It sprang back into place immediately. "It looks like we'll have to do more than a trim. Do you have any particular style in mind?"

"Shorter?" Keith ventured. "Yeah. Shorter."

"Okay, shorter," Shiro replied, with a slow blink. "I can do shorter. I'm, um, going to have to wash your hair first. The- the ash."

Keith thought back to the sisters' lectures. They'd generally been pretty clear about the difference between heaven and hell, but the stories had also never involved a very beautiful, brilliant man gently massaging his scalp in a cheap salon.

"Is the front all right?" Shiro asked, and Keith nodded wordlessly. "How would you like the back?"

"It's fine," Keith managed. He looked in the mirror, but his gaze found only the sharp line of Shiro's jaw. "I like it."

"Are you sure? I can-"

"No, it's okay."

Shiro removed the plastic apron from Keith's shoulders and began to sweep up the dark strands scattered across the floor, while Keith concentrated on making his knees carry him back outside. The receptionist cleared her throat as his hand touched the door, and he shoved a handful of crumpled bills into her perfectly manicured hand.

 **:: :: ::**

 _I need you to do me a favor._

Matt read the text and sighed, dropping his pencil onto the open book.

 _What is it?_

 _I need you to launch me into space,_ came the reply.

He rolled his eyes and typed back, _Shiro, it's not even midterms yet._

 _Matt, I just gave the most beautiful man in the world the worst haircut in the world. Do this for me, please._

 _With or without a suit?_

 _Whichever. Just aim for the sun._

Matt was spared having to immediately console his friend when another person entered the library and immediately walked into the table he was using.

An undergraduate. Matt vaguely recognized him from the theoretical physics class he TA'd, what was his name… the kid looked up and Matt started. Keith, with less hair. Keith, with a lot less hair.

Keith, with a mullet curling around his pink-flushed ears.

Matt grinned.


End file.
